


Potentiate

by panisdead



Category: Southland
Genre: Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-28
Updated: 2011-06-28
Packaged: 2017-10-20 19:58:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/216573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panisdead/pseuds/panisdead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"This is some serious Kumbaya shit right here," Cooper said after a moment of contemplation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Potentiate

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Summer of Southland kink meme](http://summerofsouthland.dreamwidth.org/6339.html), for the prompt: Lydia, Cooper, Ben; hand-holding.

The first hour of their captivity was occupied by searching for an exit, alternately shouting at each other and hunting for cell phone reception--futile in their underground prison--and a prolonged period of kicking the walls on Cooper's part, during which Ben and Detective Adams concentrated primarily on kicking the unyielding steel door.

Sometime during the second hour the effects of the hallucinogenic smoke really began to kick in.

"If it were actually hallucinogenic we'd be seeing things, but it does seem to be a depressant," Detective Adams argued from her position on her back on the paved concrete floor to Ben's left. "But what is it?"

Initially she had insisted they breathe shallowly and stay low to the ground to maximize their oxygen supply and minimize their exposure to the unknown elements in the smoke seeping in through tiny ducts in the ceiling. As the systemic effects of the mystery drug presented, though, the floor simply became practical.

Ben stared at the walls, feeling fuzzy. Concrete walls. Lots of texture to them. Originally for underground storage, maybe, or an illicit bunker. Groovy. "I got nothing," he said.

"What the hell are we on?" Detective Adams repeated.

"Ibuprofen," Cooper said lazily. "Tylenol with codeine. Oxycontin. Hydrocodone. Dos Equis." He waved a hand absently. "And whatever this is."

"A damn truth serum," Detective Adams said, propping herself up on her elbow to stare at him. Her face kept scrunching as though she wanted to be incredulously angry, but couldn't quite maintain the required energy through the effects of the smoke. "You are unfit to work."

"I know," Cooper told the ceiling. "It blows."

"I tell him that all the time," Ben said. He could feel his body trying to summon the neurochemical cocktail of disappointment, fear, and helpless, outraged betrayal that he usually felt when confronted with Cooper's substance abuse, but the smoke wouldn't let him. "He doesn't listen."

Cooper grimaced at the ceiling some more. He hadn't fought Detective Adams' instructions to get down and stay down, although under more normal circumstances he would have been pacing like a caged lion. Ben suspected all the wall kicking had taken a toll on his back.

"Cesar won't shut the fuck up about it either," Cooper said. "I get it from both ends like a goddamn fingercuff."

"It's dangerous and unethical!" Ben protested with as much heat as he could muster at the same time as Detective Adams asked, "Who's Cesar?"

"Guy I'm seeing," Cooper said, maintaining precedent by ignoring Ben.

"Huh," said Detective Adams, studying him. "So that's true."

"Am I the subject of locker room gossip? Fabulous," Cooper said icily.

Conversation subsided. Ben stared at the walls some more, tracing the seams in the concrete up and around the room until they passed over his head and out of his field of vision. He breathed in, pungent smoke and lassitude seeping into his system. He felt relaxed, a little drowsy, despite the circumstances. The paperwork on this one was going to be a fucker.

He rolled his head to face Cooper. "You never talk about Cesar."

Cooper snorted. "And why do you think that is?"

"'m just saying," Ben said. "What's it like, seeing a guy?"

"Well, the first thing you need to know is that it's easily quantifiable," Cooper said, rolling his eyes skyward. "Jesus."

Detective Adams had turned on her side and was watching them with mild interest. Ben didn't know her well enough to know if she was normally sociable with her colleagues or if it was another side effect. His few previous interactions with her had suggested a mixture of empathy and incisive reasoning when it came to the job, both delivered with brisk competence.

"I think what Officer Sherman might be _trying_ to ask is: how do you feel about the relationship?" Detective Adams offered. _Incisive: check_ , Ben thought to himself.

He caught her eye and nodded gratefully. "What she said."

"I _feel_ just fine about it, Officer Savage Love," Cooper said. "He's got a well-defined code of ethics and a big dick. Anything else?"

"That'll do it," Ben said, wincing.

Detective Adams smiled wryly. "Sounds good to me. Those two go together less often than you'd think." She sighed, ribcage expanding and contracting under her tailored suit jacket, now covered with concrete dust. "Believe me, I'd know."

"Not me," Ben muttered.

"Figures," Cooper said mockingly. "I bet you're Mr. Heteronormative in bed."

"Sorry?" Ben said.

"Heteronormative," Cooper said precisely in a prissy voice. "Candles, silk sheets, missionary position, the lady always comes first."

"Hey now," Detective Adams said. "Don't let him get to you. The ladies appreciate that. First, second, _and_ third, if you got it." She raised her eyebrows meaningfully at Ben.

He looked away, smirking. The smoke seemed to have dampened his ability to be suave as well.

"'The ladies,' huh," Cooper said. "A homogeneous group. You speak for all of them?"

Detective Adams pursed her lips dismissively. "Far as you know."

Ben grinned at the ceiling. "Homo-geneous. Heh."

"You don't pronounce the 'homo,' numb nuts," Cooper told him. "And I expect better of you than gay jokes."

"Sir. I'm sorry, sir," Ben said, distantly appalled at himself. He struggled upright and turned to face Cooper. He could feel his nervous system responding sluggishly, turning him hot and prickly with shame. "That was an inexcusable lapse in judgment. I don't know what came over me."

"Oh, I can guess," Cooper said, gesturing to encompass the concrete room, the locked door, the possibly hallucinogenic smoke.

It was far more generosity than Ben tended to expect or receive from him, and he felt a wave of gratitude overtake him. Impulsively, he reached out and grabbed Cooper's hand.

"I really am sorry, sir," he said, gripping tightly, wanting to convey his regret through his body as well as his words. "I don't have a problem with it."

"I don't _care_ if you have a problem with it," Cooper said, trying to sit up and collapsing backward. "I just want you to reach your full fucking potential, and that includes rooting out the thoughtless ignorant shit." He stuck out his other hand. "Damn it, I'm stuck. Both of you asshats help me up. Detective Adams, would you care to explain marginalization to our square-jawed straight white boy compatriot here?"

"Not really," Detective Adams said. She took Cooper's other hand and nodded at Ben, and they hauled Cooper upright. "At least he knows how to apologize," she told Cooper. "That's a start, at least."

She eyed Ben gravely, and he wondered through his fuzzy shame what incident she was remembering. A black woman in law enforcement, in a position of authority; there had to have been incidents.

He straightened. "I want to reach my full potential, too, sir," Ben said to Cooper. "Detective Adams. I really am sorry." He met her eyes and held out his hand.

She gazed at him, evaluating. "I guess you can call me Lydia." She took his hand, and they sat in a circle, hands joined, knees touching.

"This is some serious Kumbaya shit right here," Cooper said after a moment of contemplation.

"No kidding," said Lydia. She inhaled deeply. "At least you guys smell better than most hippies."

Ben looked down at his hands where they were touching the others. Cooper's big rough palm on one side, Lydia's strong dark fingers on the other. He moved his thumbs absently, stroking them, full of affection for these people and their belief that he could rise to their standards. "I know a lot of camp songs," he offered.

"Oh god, make him stop," Cooper moaned, face creased in pain.

Lydia giggled. "Is he always like this? So earnest?"

"Hey," Ben said. He couldn't find it in him to be riled. He was so content, just sitting here touching them. It probably meant his neurological function was compromised.

"As a heart attack," Cooper said. He pulled his hand free and grabbed the back of Ben's neck, sliding it up to grip his skull. "You wouldn't believe the tedium. But he's very, very good-looking."

He tugged Ben over by the head and kissed the hair at his temple, firm lips and prickly chin against Ben's scalp. Ben overbalanced and tipped into his lap with a startled _oof_.

"He sure is," Lydia said musingly from above him. Apparently his contentment was spreading. They were probably all going to die down here, stoned out of their minds in a bunker.

Ben stared down at the weave of Cooper's uniform trousers, happy all over. Such tiny little threads. He breathed in deep, smelling cotton and Cooper and smoke, then flopped over to rest his head on Cooper's knee. At least he was in good company.

"I don't date a lot of white guys," Lydia continued over his head. She made a disgruntled face. "They can get so weird." She sighed. "But he is good-looking."

"Thank you," Ben told her, flattered. "You're a very attractive woman yourself, ma'am. Great shoulders." He tipped his head back, gazing up at Cooper from upside down. "And you have really nice eyes. Sir."

"I'm touched," Cooper said, rolling them.

"Really, they're gorgeous," Ben insisted. It seemed very important to his increasingly soggy brain that Cooper grasp his sincerity. "I'm serious."

"I get it, dumbass," Cooper said, petting his head.

"Don't you hate that, when they can't take a compliment?" Lydia stretched back out on her side on the ground near Cooper's other knee and nodded at Ben confidingly. "It's like, I'm trying to do something nice for you, just shut up about your issues for a minute." She yawned hugely, showing white teeth and a flash of gold filling.

Ben yawned back instinctively. "Maybe Mr. Big Dick doesn't compliment him enough," he said thoughtfully. "He's not used to it."

He rubbed his eyes, then held his hand in front of his face and examined his fingers carefully. They looked the same as always. They should look different after holding hands with the others. "Sir? Is he nice to you?"

"He brings me flowers every Thursday," Cooper said. "Stop calling me sir when your head's in my lap."

"He's doing it again," Ben told Lydia. He reached back and fumbled for Cooper's hand, which was still in his hair. Maybe repeated exposure would help.

"Hmm," Lydia said with that same mild curiosity. "Does he really bring you flowers? Another guy? Is that a thing, a, you know, a defining characteristic of the relationship?"

"If you're asking if that's a _gay_ thing, then I think the guy-on-guy anal sex is probably the defining characteristic," Cooper said.

It was weird how Cooper was less affected by the fumes than he was, Ben thought muzzily. Higher tolerance, most likely. Lydia still seemed relatively lucid as well, although she was beginning to show signs of the same lethargy that he could feel overtaking him.

Lydia propped her head on her hand. "I've never done it in the butt," she said meditatively. "It just seems so...messy."

"Well, yeah," Cooper said. "It's your _ass_."

"But it's fun?" Ben asked. He'd found Cooper's hand again, and he squeezed it reassuringly. _Rooting out the ignorant shit, sir._

"You either?" Cooper eyed him upside down. "Lousy ass virgins."

"I'm actually pretty heteronormative in bed," Ben told him honestly.

Cooper stared down at him for a moment, and Ben felt a slow pang of renewed regret at his earlier misstep.

"I'm not gonna get weird about it," he said, holding Cooper's eyes. Full fucking potential, sir.

"Yeah," Cooper said finally, looking away. "It's fun."

Lydia rolled over onto her back and folded her arms behind her head. "Maybe I'll have to try it, then."

"I could help you with that," Ben said. He felt warm and full of good will, almost light-headed with pleasure at Cooper's show of trust. He wanted to share the wealth. "It would be an honor to do you in the butt, Detective Adams, Lydia, ma'am."

"That's sweet," Lydia said contentedly.

"Great, you guys make sure to send me a postcard from your special ass journey," Cooper muttered.

Conversation subsided again. Ben closed his eyes and breathed in smoke. The cool of the concrete floor was seeping into his bones, slowing down his breathing and his heartbeat. He knew distantly that something was really wrong with him, but it was okay. He fumbled his free arm over, found Lydia's lax fingers, and closed his hand around them.

He let himself drift.

Sometime later there was banging and shouting and the crash of the door flying open, then Dewey's voice braying, "Looks like a fuckin' orgy in here! Why didn't you guys tell me you were having a party?"

"Get this douchenozzle out of my face before I kill him," Cooper groaned, hands clenching sluggishly in Ben's hair.

Then there was a confused blur of paramedics and oxygen masks and gradually sharpening focus. Ben's head hurt like a motherfucker, and he could hear Cooper barking and snapping and refusing to be examined somewhere nearby. He didn't hear anything from Lydia, but when he forced himself upright to look he saw her propped on a gurney a little way away, blinking and rubbing her face while a tall, drooping white guy leaned over her. So that was okay.

Later still, Ben made his way slowly out of the station to find Cooper in the parking lot. He looked as gray around the edges as Ben felt, like he was dredging up the energy for the drive home. There had been _so_ much paperwork.

"So," Ben said. He stopped. He didn't really know where to go from there.

Cooper turned and regarded him. He looked even rougher up close, and there was still concrete dust in his hair.

"There's no moral," Cooper said.

"What?" Ben said, rubbing his temple. He still felt like his brain was full of styrofoam.

"You're looking for a moral to the story," Cooper said. "There isn't one. We got trapped, we got high, and we learned a little more about each other. That's it, that's all there is. Stop trying to make it into something else."

"No sir," Ben said. His head was killing him, but apparently neither pain, exhaustion, nor experimental neurotoxin could dull Cooper's propensity for philosophizing.

"Go home, sleep it off. Come back tomorrow and get ready to do it again."

"Yes sir," Ben said. He looked up, gathering himself. Impossible to imagine that the cynical bastard in front of him had ever run his fingers affectionately through Ben's hair. "I don't actually remember that much," he said. If that was only partly true, Cooper didn't have to know. Ben could give him that. He could remember Cooper's pride in him, and the feel of his knee under Ben's cheek, and that could be enough.

"I remember you offered to fuck Detective Adams in the ass," Cooper said.

"Oh Jesus," Ben said. He put a hand over his eyes in horror. "Should I apologize?"

"I have no idea. That's entirely up to her," Cooper said. He shrugged. "Just don't get all weird white boy on her, and don't presume."

Then he reached out and squeezed Ben's hand.

END


End file.
